


It’s a mechanical bull, the number one

by n0luv



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Apocalypse, Arguing, Attempted Murder, Gen, Humor, Hurt Luther Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Medicine, No Incest, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Siblings, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0luv/pseuds/n0luv
Summary: (“These were tricks and deceptions by the abusers-often experienced by the victims after being given medication or hallucinogenic drugs - that render the account unbelievable, make the witness sound unreliable, and protect the perpetrators.” — Graeme Galton,)-Emotions between siblings seem to tie into more than Reginald seemed to have realized, and he is forced to prescribe medication to yet again another child.(a brainwashed!emotionless!luther au)
Relationships: Luther Hargreeves & The Hargreeves, No Romantic Relationship(s), Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	1. divergence from the norm is nothing but a storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing this was incredibly hard,, filling out my word requirement for my story was a nightmare gosh
> 
> im hoping to hike up the word count to 6000-8000 for important chapters, 4000-5000 for middle chapters/transition to the next arc chapters and 2000-3000 for intro, intro arc and when i have writers block. ty for reading! sorry for such a short first chapter!
> 
> [EDIT: finally finished the chapter, it ended up at about 5000 words.. oops???]

Solace was something people wanted, in times of distress and need. Sometimes it was enough to make someone happy forever. But that was based on your circumstances, your interests, your risks.

You could find solace, love and peace in a friend. A family member, like most families are supposed to be like. Some more unfortunate people _find_ family. Those lucky are born into one.

The Hargreeves are lay upon neither, and are left to their own devices. Left to survive the empty, cold, open known as the Hargreeves Mansion, the children are left to themselves. They are left alone, left to their father, who was in no way shape or form a proper one. But what else could they do? 

The children are Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Five, Ben and Vanya. 

Luther is set upon the path of leader and loyalty at 2 years old. The role isn’t pushed onto him at such a young time, his father knew he could not—he wasn’t even capable of dressing himself—so his siblings do not get hit with it immediately.

He grows up the same as the rest, he eats breakfast at the same table, in the same spot, he plays with the same toys, listens to the same lullabies and stories as the rest.

That is, until their 6th birthday. It’s a normal day, all except for the date. The seven of them wake all the same, an alarm blaring from the speakers in each room of the house. They eat the same breakfast, lunch and dinner(though after dinner their mother appears at the table with a cake—their fathers disappeared to his study by then, after all,) and have the same training as each 365 a year. 

Today, although, Luther—One, at the time, is called to his fathers office. Not much happens.( _“You will be responsible for your siblings. If they die, it is on you and your incompetence. A leader takes in every and all responsibility to his team—their lives are on your hands, their spilled blood will become yours. If they do not get along, it is on you.”_ )

After, its like a switch had been flipped.

Yesterday, he was with Two, planning to play a prank on Three or Five, put fooddye in their toothpaste or crap like that, but today, when Four and Six wanted to switch out Mom’s cookies for raw ones and hand them to Two, after a prank that left Four and Six particularly sour (literally, he switched sour cream with their shampoo,) and One refused. One, of all kids, refused. 

His siblings knew he liked to have a little, if not a lot, of mischief. Call it their influence, whatever, but he liked to have fun. From then on, he was Mr. Rule Follower. Annoyed his siblings to no end, but anyways, they shrugged it off. There had to be _one_ responsible sibling. 

Especially now, when his twin, Five was so rebellious, he got himself kidnapped or killed. Reginald Hargreeves had a lot of enemies, so it was natural that when Five ran away, it would be that he’d never come back.

Luther didn’t want to believe it. None of them did. But Reginald Hargreeves enforced it, going so far as to placing a panting on the mantel of the fireplace; a constant reminder of what could happen if they rebelled. 

So, set in stone, the house of six(seven) super powered children became one of five(six.) 

Reginald was having a hard time with Number One. The boy was loyal, which was good for him. But _also_ the precipice of his inevitable downfall. He was loyal, not to just Reginald, but to his siblings. The boy was straying from his lead, his touch, his words, his _orders_.

He was.. _rebelling_. Worst of all, the infuriating child ran away from his new training. It consisted of him destroying six robots, that had identical faces to his siblings. It didn’t work, and the boy left crying. 

It was a setback, a setback that Reginald could not afford. Similar to Number Seven, he prescribed medication. It was modified, of course, he couldn’t have his Number One going around powerless. It was the emotion blocker, tripled by a ton.

Luther loved his siblings. All care and warmth and _emotion_. Strip it away and you had a boy with powers, surrounded with five others like him. The care kept him going. Luther became much less than Grace, whom was a robot designed to _care_. Luther was human, but felt as if an empty, unprogrammed, robot.

And Luther soon became One, much like his missing brother Five, who refused name, though, One was stripped of his, rather than given a choice.

 _Because_ they were older, not just toddlers, not mindless humans anymore, it was harder for Reginald to change the rest’s perception of Number One. He set up an accident, to cover for Number One’s change.

Number One is sent on a mission, a mission only hecould do. Immediately, Two was jealous and Three was worried. Four and Six are confused, but end up straying away in fear of their father. Seven doesn’t hear the news until One is gone. 

Number One come back, hurt and lulling in and out of consciousness. One gets surgery and is prescribed medication that is to be taken four times a day, everyday, forever.

Grace warns the children to be nice, and not to be hurt if he says something mean. Unclarified, Klaus asks why. Grace blinks, opening her mechanical mouth before closing it once again. Turning her back from the five of them, she answers in the same, honey sweet voice. 

“He got hurt.” The voice is charming and warm, but Diego senses the short, sheer, quiver and cold air in the room. Grace leads them to Luther’s room and they file in, crowding their brothers white bed at the window edge of the room.

He looks out, hands twitching lightly against himself and the cold glass. At the sound of steps, he turns, eyes blank and mouth downturned into a semi-permanent frown. He tilts his head to them, eyes thinned. 

His eyes, which used to be a watery, sky blue, were instead ice cold glass. Permeated blue and crystalline blink at the sight of people. It had been a little over two months since the surgery, mission and when the five were allowed to see Luther. Luther’s head had been shaved for the surgery and since then had grown into its natural dark brown. 

Short matte hair was neatly combed and Luther looked suddenly too much like Five.

Vanya finds air caught in her throat, quickly, brashly and really quite desperately, finding solace in One’s icy eyes, which remind her that he is not Five. It calms her, but a creeping uneasiness fills the panic under Vanya’s skin. She hurriedly and trying to be quiet, slips a pill into her mouth.

Vanya is prescribed and instructed to take it once a day, everyday, but she doesn’t care, anxiety pills are supposed to surpress anxiety and anxiety was filling her insides like water under a bridge during a rain storm, so she would take her pills like no other.

Luther’s brows furrow and he eyes the five with caution and paranoia. Three speaks up, with worry, which was inevitable considering their.. history. “Luther! We were so worried, we couldn’t see you for almost _two_ months _straight_ , so mu—“

Luther huffs, then sniffing the brittle air pompously and a little irritatedly, “Could you quiet down? As you can see and have said, I’ve been in here for two months.” He thins his mouth in a straight line, almost as bitterly as his words came out. Allison is striken and taken aback, stepping away with a click of her ‘janes. 

The rest of them blink in the same surprise and confusion before Grace looks to them, solemnly and oddly sad. A blank stare from One is redirected to Grace as his face contorts into a disgusted and bitter face, the only emotion they’d seem from him in a while. His mouth puckers and thins, like he’d eaten a particularly sour candy. 

He pushes himself back, further into the his white pillows and comforter, while Grace stands, watching him. Grace turns around, to the rest of them, ushering them out.

They don’t see Luther for much after that. The next time any of them see him, that isn’t in his room as they pass by, in their father’s office, or again, in their built in infirmary is when he sat in the instrument room.

The room was usually confined for Vanya and her violin, but after Ben gave a particular interest in piano, they allowed the room to the rest. Reginald hoped that learning a hard instrument might sharpen their focus to be as distinct as in there in training.

Luther sat on the brown seat, pushing his shoulders back and his head leveled, hands prickling onto the white keys and resting on the caramel varnished brown wood piano, as Ben and Klaus trailed Seven to the instrument room. Vanya was to practice and show off what she had recently learned of Partitia No. 2. 

As they made their way to the room, through the long, winding halls of the mansion, Je Te Veux filled the house, though played slowly. 

Ben blinks at the noise, as his siblings heads redirected themselves to him. Ben was the only person in the house could play piano. Vanya was spectacular at violin, but not very good at piano. Five.. he knew how to play, before they left. But he never _learned_ Je Te Veux. 

Diego couldn’t play anything for the life of him, and Allison was always partial to the flute. Klaus was alright at it, but the thing was.. he was right behind them.

The three of them edged closer to the lightly ajar door, which only peaked light through it. Vanya played a prayer of _let it be Five_ through her head. It hadn’t been too long since he left, just a week stray of the four month anniversary of his disappearance.

Klaus pushes the large wood door open, to reveal a bright sunlight coming from the rooms large glass window. Blinking and readjusting to the harsh sun, Vanya steps in first, mouth dry at the sight of Luther. At first, like she seemed to do a lot these days, she thought it was Five. But the form was too tall, too large. And she saw, again, through her grandeur, that it was Luther.

Ben’s question was _when did Luther learn how to play piano? Luther_ slows down the fast paced keys and the music thins out into a piercing silence. His attention directs to the three of them at the door. “What do you want?” Luther asks, thin, pale fingers drumming against his thigh, which was covered by blue uniform shorts. 

Vanya’s voice was caught in her throat, as Ben spoke up. “Vanya was getting her violin.” Luther sniffs, nodding and stepping away from the caramel piano, clipped steps furthering down the hallway. 

The next time they saw Luther, which was only for a brief moment, though all of them, was on their usual Griddy’s runs. Luther was in the kitchen, sipping down a large glass of water, while the five of them(yes, Vanya included; Ben was trying to include her more,) loudly tried to push each other out the door. Six, the sweetheart he was, sighed, walking back quietly to where Luther stood, before whispering an invitation to go out with them.

His face contorted into one of genuine confusion and.. disgust? before shortly spitting out a caustic _no_.

Ben stood dumbfounded, while the rest of them ushered him over to leave, Luther stalking away with the glass of half empty water.

He, which to the children meant Luther, was different. He, which to the children now needed to mean One, asked to be called One, shortly after Allison yelled out an annoyed _Luther_ to him after dinner. Their rooms were right beside each other, but to Allison, the void between them ripped into a capacity of worlds apart.

The house was tense, after that display in their bedrooms hallway. One kept to himself, during training, taking walks in the garden, avoiding eye contact during dinner, locking himself in his room. Allison, which to One became Three, much like how Diego became Two, Klaus became Four, Ben became Six and Vanya became Seven; sulked around the house, sadly. 

No one knew, but she was sulking not just because Luther became rude and uninterested in her, but because her powers failed her. Allison regularly rumored Luther into having an interest and small crush on her, but it didn’t _work_.

Allison didn’t know this, but the reason it didn’t work was because Luther, now One, wasn’t _capable_ of care or feeling. Again, like we’ve discussed before, One is nothing more than a robot. 

So, they grow up. Luther, which became One, is still the same rude, uninterested, powerhouse of a boy in his teen years as he was a child.

Diego is moody and angry all the time, One confuses him because he doesn’t do anything to rile Diego up but his blankness, his _carelessness,_ sets Diego off more than ever before. He, although he would never tell anybody, misses the old Luther.

Allison focuses on her power and her appearance. She piles makeup on and wears expensive dresses and tries to rumor One because she can’t deal with it not working. 

Klaus shys away from One. One’s sharp cutting comments should remind Klaus of Five, at the very least, but it reminds him of their father. One gained a sneer, a disapproving stare, a cold voice and stance that shook Klaus’s weak core.

Ben tries to keep his family steady, tries to reattach the seams that seem to keep falling apart but he can’t help but fail. Ben doesn’t care about his father’s opinion, different from the world where One doesn’t take pills and stays loyal and alone and hurt; Ben hasn’t cared for years. His family has dissolved into _something_ like sand.

It sticks to you, no matter what and no matter how uncomfortable, but when you try to gather it up, put it together, _fix it_ , it crumbles all the same. Of course, speaking in terms of using sand to create structure, you would add water into the mix; give the sand some form.

In this situation, we don’t have water. Ben and his family are sand. Crumbling sand. 

And in other worlds, as we keep comparing, the worlds don’t have water for the Hargreeves. In the rarer times, there is water and that water is Ben, before he dies and maybe it’s Luther, before his loyalties lied with their father, or, most of the time, it’s Five, too long after he’s left.

But currently, at the moment, the moment where it is One, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Ben and sometimes-Vanya, at the moment where they are only 14, Five isn’t their water, not yet, not ever. Because Luther has become One, in a world where he should have been called Luther.

Although it should have been a one time thing, Vanya keeps mistaking One for Five. One ends up stopping dying his hair the same honey blonde as their mother and keeps his natural dark brown. He keeps it combed neat and straight against his head, similar to Five.

That was the thing.

He was too similar to Five.

Before One started dying his hair, he looked like Five, yes, but their behaviour was different. Now, One acts like Five. Rude, uninterested, pompous and intelligent. Ruder, meaner, easily peeved, _not_ Luther.

But they guessed, or more accurately, _brushed off_ , thats what brain surgery did to you. It wasn’t. _Oh_ , it _wasn’t_. 

Well, perhaps that was what was in store for the Hargreeves. And between worlds and universes, there haven’t been many where the Hargreeves were happy. Happy middle? Essentially, before it is ripped away. Happy end? Yes, but after sacrifice, sacrifice and hurt. Too much hurt. General happiness? Happy beginning? Happy constant? 

None.

But maybe sacrifice was sometimes the only method for happy end and (eventual) happy life. None of the children understood that, well, except for maybe Five, who was currently stuck in the apocalypse, and although would never admit it, always clung to hope, he didn’t know what kind of hope, he just clung onto it for dear life. 

One would never understand that. Maybe on the odd days where he forgets to take his pills, or takes them less than four times a day, he feels something, something faintly resembling guilt or shame or awkwardness, he could, but he never explored that option.

Thats what he thinks. And what Reginald thinks. What the children, though not specifically, know and generally think(to them, he is Luther, Luther that was too loyal, sometimes nice and too sweet but would never show it. Now he is Luther that is rude, uninterested, constantly bored, incredibly intelligent, heartless and takes pills.) Thats what they all think.

Until Luther is 15 and the six of them have been getting stronger, working harder, training harder. And, although the pills could magically surpress Vanya and generally erase all of Luthers emotions and care, it can’t erase telepathical emotion.

As you know, Luther and Five are twins. The only twins in the academy. The only twins in the 43. Perhaps a miracle, a blessing, a _goldmine_ , for Reginald. That’s what he thought, until their powers weren’t connected at all, in any way.

Their personality was different, their faces, their _essence_. But after the surgery, they become similar, in more ways than one. Luther’s face begins to look more like Five’s, seems to align and fade into his when they take pictures.

(un)Apologetically, Vanya sometimes prefers it that way. Pictures Luther to be Five, pictures it wherr Luther is the one whose left and Five stayed. 

Their leader changes, and seems to feel moreso Five-like than himself. It scares them. Them, being the children. It makes them happy. Them, being Reginald.

Luther is 15, and he’s strong. Incredibly strong. And albeit they would never admit or acknowledge, incredibly emotionless. That is, until Five breaks down in the apocalypse. It’d been the three year anniversary of being stuck. He was 15. For Five, 15, before he got stuck, meant a great deal of things. 

Five, aged 12, decided, that by age 15, he’d have the grades to prematurely admit himself to a premium university. He decides, thathe was smart enough for it. And he may have gotten that achievement, had he not left. For Five, 15 meant university. It meant driver’s licenses. It, meant, maybe, a job. It, meant, maybe, leaving. Moving into a university dorm.

Getting away.

And get away, he did. Just.. not where he pictured himself. No one really pictures themself in a futuristic wasteland, though, do they? 

Five, although he keeps a level headed persona, moreso for himself, than anyone else, taking into account that _no one_ else was alive, breaks. Just for that day.

The day of 15, which meant many things, and many things which didn’t happen, all except for one thing, which happened, in a way he never expected, and never wanted.

So, a flurry of emotions hits Luther like a truck. It’s dinner in the Hargreeves house, a few hours stray from the 12 ‘o clock mark, which signalled their 15th. Luther eats dinner, picking lightly at his food, as he usually did, finding no taste in it, no amusement, no care and enjoyment in it. Grace was a robot, and Luther passes the blandness as it being her race.

Luther picks up a stray pea with his fork, eying the impaled green circle with blinking, blank eyes, before he slips it into his pale mouth. He chews and intends to lightly set his metal, gorgeously brandished fork, down. He drops it. 

Luther, suddenly drops it. His hands tremble and shake. He feels water works impairing him, lightly and a little shockingly; he hadn’t spared a tear since the day of his surgery. The commotion sets off a chain reaction: his father, turning, angrily and irritated, eyes widening, ever so slightly, at the tears pouring from the boys blank, empty face. He yells, asking if the boy had taken his pills. Luther silently nods, as the tears stream, faster, harder and longer.

The drop of the fork immediately took the attention of his siblings, being the kids they were, they watched as their leader, their brother, the boy who, they mostly saw to be a strong force, unemotional, logical, could make hard decisions at the drop of a hat, made fast, cutting cold remarks.. bawl, uncontrollably. 

Reginald gets up from his seat at the end, gesturing to Grace to come over and take the boy to the infirmary. The six are left in silence amd confusion.

Later, Reginald has Grace explain _what exactly_ BPD means.

The next day, they don’t see Luther. Reginald doesn’t know whats going on, and doesn’t have a current permanent fix. So, as any perfectly logical, caring parent would do, he hops the boy up on _more_ pills. Four in the morning, three in the afternoon, six in the evening and several during the night.

It leaves Luther loopy and out of it, and sometimes incredibly snappy and rude, moreso than ever. Sometimes Luther freaks out again, sometimes he leaves the room immediately, pushing chairs out of the way in his room and hiding under his desk or bed, hands to his ears and his eyes shut, silently rocking back and forth, with no much as an unknown source of comfort making their way into his ears.

Sometimes, Luther is blank. His default, for the last three years. But it’s worse. He had.. opinions before. Now, at the time, during that, massive, collassal, hellweek, he was neutral.

Misty eyed, watching things from afar. Seeing things that weren’t there. Looking past a person, although giving coherent, completely normal, logical responses, though blinking rapidly at something in the far distance. Any, of his siblings, _all_ of his siblings, turn, to see nothing there.

What Luther sees is Five. He sees him, 12, and hurt. He sees a boy, in denial, freaking out over shortage of food, loss of water, can’t find the library, where is dolores? where is the book? can i travel again? time travel again? not there, where the corpses are. is everyone dead? am i alone? no im not? am i? where am i again? what? who is that? 

Whats Luther hears is reassurances, coming from a light, whispered voice. Five whispers, in that first year, reassurances, to himself. And Luther doesn’t know who it is, and it hurts. Oh, so very badly. Luther sees burning buildings, abandoned library, corpses that are too incoherent in the rosecolored filter that covers him and the sights he sees in his dreams and, most commonly, when he’s awake. 

Five sees things too. And although it isn’t the apocalypse, thankfully, it plagues his mind all the same. Luther, who Five can’t make the differences between the two of them, who he mistakes for himself, lay, mumbling on the metal table in the academy infirmary. Its the surgical table.

Five had only been there once. After a particularly hard mission, Five broke his leg and ripped the muscle snd skin under it. The bone pierced out, nearly begging to leave, and slipping lightly back and forth between into the unknown, and under his skin and muscle, ehere it belonged.

Luther, who Five still presumes is him, is injected with something. It courses through Five’s veins, as he watched in third person, and he can feel at the same time, makes him numb. Under the numb is faint alarm, his flight or flight kicking in. Under it is fear, adrenaline that yells for him to get up, run and go, but the numb takes him over, not wrapping him like a comfortable blanket during a harsh winter, no, it takes him over like a darkness that he can’t find the light for. 

A knife is inserted through Luther’s head, after it is swiftly and cleanly shaved. Stopping at the middle of the sharp metal, the hand, which Five instantly knows belongs to his father, drags the knife, raggedly and harshly, as if to simulate a weapon being used on him. In this situation, there was most definitely a weapon. But that weapon wasn’t the knife. 

The scene switches, and between scenes, like an intermission act during a movie,(Five had only been to the movies twice, and the intermission was nice, he could move his legs and stretch before sitting once more and getting more invested in the movie,) but unlike the intermission, this felt long. Like an eternity. An eternity gave him time to think.

He thought, of the numbness that filled his limbs, the way his body didn’t feel like his anymore. He felt himself become something other than him, an empty vessel for a brash and horrible master.

The mental image returns, and the ‘movie’ starts again. Luther sits on his white bed, and Five wonders when they changed his bed sheets in his room. Five hopes they didn’t touch any of his notes, before shaking himself and focusing on the scene. 

Grace sits in a wooden chair, burgundy varnish with undertoned of oak and birch. He hands a transparent, orange tinted bottle with a white cap, to Luther. Luther holds it, and Grace gestures to the rattling white pills inside. Luther twists the cap, sliding out an ungodly amount of them, which, from seeing Vanya take hers, seemed to be sn incredibly high dosage.

Luther slips them in his mouth, swallowing and downing it clean. Soon enough, that.. numb, coarse feeling turns on once again, Fives body doesn’t feel like his anymore. He is empty, and his feelings that he desperately feeld are dismissed like a particularly annoying person, whom you wish to just _leave,_ immediately. 

The whole fiasco lasted a week. And kept happening, a few times a month, until he was 17. It died out then. But occasionally, and still, very rarely, either twin got flashes of _something._ Whoever they were seeing, whatever was being shown, either it be themselves or someone else, was having a particularly horrific life.

When they are 17, when Ben is supposed to die, he doesn’t. The family had taken more than enough of its fair share of loss; physical _and_ mental. Whoever pulled the strings, _fate_ as some could say, saw fit that One’s sacrifice was more than enough stolen from the Hargreeves, and Ben was spared. That didn’t make them any less hurt.

Now, they are 18. Vanya slowly but surely pulls away from her father’s grasp and finds her own apartment and an orchestra where she can practice and play her beloved violin. Ben applies to Wales and gets accepted. He packs up to move. Klaus moves alongside Ben, into a shabby two bedroom apartment in the UK.

Allison becomes an actress; she always did enjoy the stars; movie stars, that is. Diego works his ass off at Police Academy and left. 

And finally, but not usually lastly, One. Again, like most things, One’s life differs from Luther in the other worlds. Reginald permits One to leave, because he knows he can’t do much. 

So, like in uniformly(backward) order, something they were especially used to, One moves out. He is smart and makes steadfast, clever decisions during missions but never the less is indecisive when it comes to life changing choices, simple choices, like what to eat or what to wear. 

One closes his eyes and counts on his fingers, to determine which major he should take for school. His fingers land on forensic scientist. Law enforcement.

One blinks at the choice but ultimately nods and applies for a scholarship. He passes, and spends the next four years breezing through his work and soon enough has his degree. 

And now, at 23 and a half, he works at the police department in the center of their city. In the back office, all for himself, his lab experiments and quick DNA scans. One, when he was 23, bought a house. Yes, a house. During his school years, he was payed to examine and scan things for a good price(ie. illegally.)

But then again, One doesn’t really know any better.

I don’t know, if what you’ve read so far clears anything about One up, as it should have, but if it hasn’t, let me break him down for you.

One Hargreeves, previously known as One, Luther, then, now, currently One. He’s been taking emotion surpressing pills since he was 12, taking away his free will and choice making. When he’s 18, he moves out(last, as currently a trend in each world.)

He uses eeny meeny miny mo to decide his major. One Hargreeves doesn’t have any emotions, choice making smarts, or even the faintest idea of what making his _own_ choices is. 

To everyone who works there, he’s the quick smart, sharp and incredibly caustic forensic scientist, whom usually gets the work done faster than sending it to the main office.

He’s the ‘odd, rude one, with a number for a name.’ One doesn’t mind. He usually didn’t mind a lot of things, now. He’s still rude, and uninterested and honest, he still has no filter and spills out insults like he’s talking about the weather but he doesn’t _mind_ _anything_ anymore. 

It’s the pills, we presume. Of course, One doesn’t know that. He religously takes them, several times a day, everyday; he had been, for the last 18 years. Numbs him, makes him everything everyone knows him as. 

And Luther is completely content with it. That is, before Five, someone who Luther vaguely remembered as a child, appears on his front door step. 

“Why is Vanya’s book gone?!” 

“I don’t the faintest clue of whom you’re talking about, nonetheless who the hell you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you must be confused about the twin-feelings-telepathy thing so: time is confusing.
> 
> During Five’s 15-break, he experiences the surgery Luther goes under, which is essentially Reginald’s cover and creating a wound and patching it up, so the rest of the children wont be suspicious as to why Luther doesn’t have a scar, and Luther’s first time on pills.
> 
> During Luther’s 15-break, he experiences Five at 12, all his denial and dismissal that he’s stuck, all the hurt and loss, the going a little mad for a while, before sucking up and trying to live, miserably failing the first time and finally, trying to live, for real this time(not really. five breaks a little hard that first year, and goes more than a little mad.)


	2. complexes and piaget, stockholm and festinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Five freaks out over a book, timetravels and arrives on One’s darkwood doorstep. 
> 
> One, completely oblivious to who the hell this child with oversized clothes is, and why he’s yelling at him, invites him in. 
> 
> Other than examining the ripped skin of the raging homicidal manic that’s been murdering people for over two months now, which honestly was quite boring, he didn’t have much to do at the moment.
> 
> So why not invite this funky little 10 (“I am not 10 years old!) year old in to chew you out?

Five Hargreeves has lived 58, long, tiring years.

13 under the parentage and supervision of a dastardly, sadistic old man, talking monkey and robot housewife and 45 in the apocalypse. Yes, the apocalypse. Burning bridges and dead bodies, the whole shebang.

So, of course, not many things surprise the old man anymore. That is, until his sister’s biography, _Extra-Ordinary, My Life As Number Seven_ began to fade away. Starting from the inked pages, to the pages themselves to the _whole damn book_.

At first, Five doesn’t notice. He’d had the book on hand and on body since he find it under the rubble of his safeplace; the library. Naturally, the pages would wear out after so long.

He doesn’t take notice, until the whole front side of the book _literally_ begins to fade in his hands. Five, honestly, freaks out. He hadn’t had so much as a surprised expression or feeling on his face for the last few decades, so this was _serious_.

And, although Five was on the job—about to kill one Millicent Keiman, a sweet old lady who was about to tell designer of explosive Hindenburg to fill it with helium, instead of the extremely flammable hydrogen—Five sought out to leave.

What’s one to do, anyways, when the thing you’ve been keeping on you, reading and writing on for more than half of your life, begins to fade away infront of your eyes? Time travel back, of course. 

_________________________________

“I don’t the faintest clue of whom you’re talking about, nonetheless who the hell you are.”

The child grumbled, contorting his face into something of grumpiness and confusion, which probably would have looked better on a 58 year old, not a 12 year old, but One ignored it and continued, “But, yeah, whatever come in.” One says, offhandedly, muttering something about the boys outfit.

Five’s thin dress shirt was revealed through the quite black and scorched fabric hole on Five’s suit back.

His portal closed a little too small and a little too early, by the looks of it and the peeling leather backs of his too-large dress shoes.

Five rolls his eyes, a much fitter expression for him, sighing and pursing his lips, before walking into One’s house.

Its a nice house, on Cherry Lane, wedged between tall apartment buildings down town. Usually the house that everyone leers at for being a ‘sweet, victorian’ garden home that they dream of, sitting in the heart of the city.

One doesn’t get it. It’s a house. With a yard, and flowers and plants that the previous owners didn’t dig up. A nuttree sits in the backyard with a wooden swing seat hanging underneath.

The house itself isn’t anything special. No one said he was an interior designer.

His kitchen is large, white and to be honest, empty. His living room follows the same, wooden floors, leather couch, bookshelf, quite empty. His room is the only room filled. Four large rooms line the hallway his room is in and three other medium sized rooms are on the base floor.

One eyed Five with thinned lips, a little confused at _who_ exactly the kid was. One’s whole childhood was, honestly, a blur for him. He could make out small bits, like how many siblings he had, what their names were, their basic personality traits, what they looked like, who his mother and father were, _what_ they were and so on. 

He didn’t or moreso, couldn’t make out what exactly he did as a child, other than the whole superhero biz. Most of his memories passed him by in quick and loud flashes, and afterwards, he couldn’t remember them anymore. 

One disregards it, like most things he did, a habit he and his siblings aquired in their early childhood. That was one thing he remembers, though not exactly _why_ they learned not to question much. 

“Are you _coming_?” The boy said, presumably from his living room, in a gruff, irritated tone. One blinks, closing his white door, speaking out, “Coming.” He dragged himself over, to his empty livingroom. On his couch sat the kid, hands in his lap seriously. 

One really didn’t know where this was going to go; the kid could honestly been a murderer with some sort of physical disorder, but he wouldn’t know unless he tried to kill him. One decided he was strong enough. 

He sits on the larger couch, opposite the boy. One blinks at him, beginning to gesture him to start, but the kid cuts him off. 

“Do you not know who I am?” He asks, head turning to look straight at One. One blinked, unsure how to respond. His childhood was not something he often dwelled on, nor even remembered. He was alive because he could be, when he dies, hes dead because he did.

In the end, One nodded slowly, not opening his mouth to say anything. The conversation was really departing from what One thought what was to happen.

The boy grumbles, eyes squeezing irritatedly, “Well, who are you, then?” One asks, leaning back into the leather couch, hands wringing together.

The kid shook his head, before talking. “Five Hargreeves. _Your_ brother.” 

And.. suddenly, things.. _still_ didn’t make much sense, but atleast a little more than before.

One tries to piece a few things together, ending with just some sense of his blacked out, blurred memory. As a teenager, things felt alright and in place, other than the aching, hurting numbness in his hands, head and himself, nothing was gone.

Yes, his family went from One to Seven. But there was a hole. It was odd that it was one to seven but no _five_. But then again, the Hargreeves were taught not to question things, and they usually didn’t. His family ended up breaking that code, that lesson, but One never did. 

Something, or now more clearly, _someone,_ was gone from the vicinity. And the answer was right in front of him. Five Hargreeves. His brother. But for the life of him, One couldn’t remember anything at _all_ about him. He knew he left. And now he’s back. 

As One digs deeper, tries to think, things fracture, and start to not make sense anymore.

Words come floating back to One, as his consciousness retreats from the black hole that was his mind, and clears itself. “Luther.” And that gives One whiplash.

He hadn’t been called Luther.. in ages. One’s lips thin, and his eyebrows knit together, facing his brother irritatedly. “It’s One.” He mutters, as Five doublebacks, asking for reconfirmation, “What?” One breathes out sharply, “My name is One.” He concludes, looking away from Five. 

Five blinks, leaning a little further into the couch in surprise. He nods, not questioning it further(habit.)

And it suddenly occurs to him, “ _Where_ have you been?” 

_________________________________

Five seeing and following Luther back home from an outing was seriously not how he planned coming back. Five got odd looks from on goers that walked down the cities street, presumably from a number of things. Like, his large suit and shoes. His _burning_ large shirt and shoes. 

Nevermind that, Five reminds himself. Luther got home, unlocked his white door and stepped inside. Five stepped onto his brothers porch, knocking, loudly and irritatedly.

The door opened, and Five was met with Luther’s piercing blue eyes. Light, and icy. 

“Why is Vanya’s book gone?!” Five yelled out, in a deep hum of urgency, as he quickly and permanently remembered _why_ he was here. His brother didn’t give as much as a flinch, or blink at Five, nonetheless he was his brother that had been missing for.. Five counted internally, ten years, now, was it? Reaching the eleventh soon. 

“I don’t the faintest clue of whom you’re talking about, nonetheless who the hell you are.”

Five’s voice caught in his throat, and he furrowed his brows confusedly, before opening his mouth to speak, “But, yeah, whatever come in.” Luther cut him off, widening the door to accommodate Five’s body, which Five himself, just realized was significantly smaller. 

Five mutters a swear under his breath at the sight of himself. Dismissing it for another time, he walks into Luther’s house.

It was significantly empty, with stray furniture in the livingroom and the rare book splayed on the dining table. It looked bare, but also lived in and cluttered. It was, as Luther usually was, neutral. Perfectly so.

Five treads the house carefully, as if something was going to pop out of the walls or pull him from around the corner and tear him to bits. Nothing was going to do that, obviously, and if anything in the room would, it certainly wouldn’t be One, no, it would most likely be himself.

The old man(now pubescent boy,) sits on the cushy white leather couch, one of the ‘many’ things that Luther owned, looking to the door, brows furrowed and mind a little more than disoriented and skewed.

He _did_ just pull off time travelling back in time(in the wrong time, anyways,) a thing he hadn’t done, or more accurately, hadn’t dared, to do, since he was of the age his body was.

“Are you coming?” Five asked impatiently—did the man really not clue into who he was?

”Coming.” Luther responded, dragging himself over. Five watched his brother walk to the couches. It was definitely odd. He was essentially a mirror of his previous self—him, in his twenties, just blue eyed.

Since when Luther stop dying his hair, anyways? 

“Do you seriously not know who I am?” He asks, head turning to look straight at One, brows furrowed and mouth parted in a little suspicion. Five wasn’t buying it.. or he was, because what the hell does he know that happened after he left.

One nodded slowly. God, this was getting harder than Five needed. He didn’t have any time for this, and he just needed everyone together to stop the apocalypse.

He squeezed his eyes irritatedly. _When_ was the last time he slept? His brothers words cut the overdue and slightly awkward silence—“Well, who are you, then?” Luther spoke, leaning back.

“Five Hargreeves. _Your_ brother.” 

Five watches Luther go down the rabbit hole, and never come out. His eyes close and he breathes slowly, then sharply, as if rediscovering a wretched thought. Five didn’t have time for this. “Luther.” The boy said, impatiently.

“It’s One.” He mutters. Five nearly shouted, but asked again, “What?” One breathes out sharply, “My name is One.” 

Five blinks, leaning a little further into the couch in surprise. He always had pestered his family about names being garbage and names making you attachable, but they never listened. Luther—One, seemed to get that, after his disappearance.

“ _Where_ have you been?” One inquired suddenly.

They were finally getting somewhere—good. “The future. It’s _absolutely_ shit, by the way.” One hummed. “Why is it shit?”

Five paused for a moment—oh _shit_. Should he tell him about the apocalypse? It’ll be a shock, obviously, but could he avoid spilling? Five pondered the decision before picking.

”The apocalypse. 4.543 billion years, wiped out in a flash.” Five said. One.. One just blinked. The man shrugged, “It was going to happen at some point.” 

Fives eyes widened incredulously, before barely holding back a brief and depressing, laugh. “Know how it’s going to happen?” One asked, and Five shook his head.

Still, after so long, it was a complete mystery. And, god, the book was a whole other matter. One couldn’t tell him, because it seems the book hasn’t even _been_ written yet. 

Ah, lord, he already had so many slips that he needed to fix. He was in _2012_. The apocalypse happened in 2019, but Five had a feeling it’d be coming, much, much, sooner.

..One squinted his eyes, “Turn around.” Five furrowed his eyebrows.

“What? Is t—“ 

“Just turn around.” 

Five did as told, grudgingly anyways, before One let out a breathless laugh. 

“Five. You need new clothes”

”One, I _know_ my shoes ar—“ 

“No. It’s not just the shoes,” He gestured to all around Five, “You look like a depressing last minute halloween costume. What’s with the suit, anyways?” One said, with a blank expression and monotonous voice. 

Five sighed, shaking his head. “I, _obviously_ am _not_ supposed to be 13. How couldn’t you have _clued in_ , by now?” he sneered, hands up in the air frustratedly. “Got anything else to tell me?” One raised a brow. “ _Fucking_ loads.”

_________________________________

“..Klaus, is doing what he does. Diego, last I heard quit, or got kicked out of the police academy. Vanya’s apartment is downtown—she plays violin professionally. Allison’s in LA. She got married last year. Ben is working as a professor.” One finished dryly.

They were.. clothes shopping. Apparently Five couldn’t wear the suit, which to some degree, he did agree, it would be a burden, but they did _not_ have to go shopping. One insisted.

Five stayed silent, but piped up as One slipped a sweater off a rack, ”Are you _serious_? That color is,” Five shivered, “Hideous.”

”Didnt know you were such the fashionista.” One threw the dark green sweatshirt into the basket. “Doing this was totally unreasonable. I do not need—“

”You were going to walk around with a burning hole in your suit jacket?” 

Five didnt answer, picking at the shirts on racks around him. 

”Not the jeans—“ One rolled his eyes, “You’re too picky, kid.” One sighed. 

“Not a kid.” Five shook his head, “Old man, kid, whatever.” Five plucked a pair of smart looking brown khakis, button ups, plus a vest, off the shelf and into the basket. One muttered something under his breath, along the lines of _old man_.

The two of them continued walking around the store, picking up various articles of clothing, and either putting them into the basket, or putting the back on the shelf. One slowed for a moment, pulling a small orange bottle out of his jacket pocket. He unscrewed it, slipping one out and into his mouth. He swallowed it dry.

Fives eyebrows rose up slightly, “When did _that_ happen?” He asked, tapping his finger against a table that had different types of shoes resting on it. One froze, just for a moment, before barely relaxing, and answering.

“A little after you left. Maybe a year. I’m unsure. I can’t remember.” Five nodded slowly, “Anyways. I was on a mission. One that dad assigned to me.” They continued walking with the basket, “It didn’t succeed, because I blacked out and woke up three months later with a bandage to my head.”

The air was.. unmistakably tense. It went on in silence for a few more minutes, before One dragged him over to another mannequin sitting at the front of the store.

He threw mostly everything on it into the basket(except for the jeans, disgusting, as Five said.) They walked over to the cashier, and One pulled everything out for the woman at the register to scan. “You and your son look _identical,_ you know? All up until the eyes.” She said, sweetly. 

Five, barely controlled himself, but One turned to him, shaking his head lightly and quietly snorting. “Ah, yes, we get that a lot. The eyes belong to his mother.” One said, nodding to the woman with a plastic smile. He talked with more emotion than Five heard from him, this whole, tedious, two hour trip.

She handed the wrapped up clothes to One and he dragged Five away from the store before he could commit homicide. 

“ _Mother_. Mother? What the _actual_ hell, One—“ One shrugged. “What did you want me to say?” Five grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. “Whatever.“ 

The two of them slipped into One’s car, and they drove off.

God, this was going to take long. They needed to find the rest of their siblings soon. Saving the world was a _whole_ different thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see one’s house of being those empty house aesthetic pictures. you know the ones, the oddly nostalgic, creepingly uncomfortable living rooms or bathrooms in the freaky webcore traumacore nostalgiacore pics. if you don’t know what im talking about: 
> 
> https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/428616089537796053/ 
> 
> and
> 
> https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/593912269595896493/


	3. now i feel it like a hurricane, its so hard to stop the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Diego’s in jail.” One said, coughing awkwardly into his arm.
> 
> “Seriously?”
> 
> “I saw him handcuffed, being shoved in a cell as I walked in, Five.”
> 
> Five rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We need to get him out.”

Five was having a hard time looking for Diego, even though he apparently, lived in the city, or even any of his family.

The two of them, One and Five, couldn’t cover much ground, either.

One still had to work(who knew he was a forensic scientist, or that he would become one?) and Five..it would be suspicious seeing a 13 year old driving a car. And it would be illegal.

His powers were still drained, and although he could do short distance, time traveling still took a lot out of him.

Though there was one thing still standing — which was to get One to drive. But his brother drove _so_ goddamn slow, it felt like he was staying in one spot the whole drive. Looking for his siblings would take until the damned apocalypse happened. 

So, Five was stuck at One’s house. That is, until they could go out and  actively  look for any of their siblings. (or until Five could go look for him without One knowing.)

One didn’t remember his brother — atleast not a lot, and warranted to keep the boy(man?) under house arrest. It was  extremely  patronizing, but One was the one who owned the house, not Five.

Five ended up spending the few days he  was forced  away in One’s house to refresh himself up on history.

His brother’s library was  surprisingly  extensive, and had much information. The first thing he searched on his brother’s computer was ‘The Umbrella Academy”. Don’t blame him for being curious—blame time traveling away for 4 and a half decades.

An  abundance  of articles popped up, but more so around the time they disbanded. Since then, all interest in the academy has died out. (other than the occasional dry article about who each member of the academy was, and who they were now.)

‘’The Umbrella Academy’  formally  disbands’ was one of the top articles, and wrote about major events throughout their time as heroes.

Five skimmed through it, before landing on a total of three (3) more interesting, and benefactual, topics.

The first being: “Number One: Luther Hargreeves’s Accident”

_Number One, Spaceboy, or Luther Hargreeves, had an accident as a child, in 2002. A statement said by his father back in 2002 is as follows, “My son, Luther Hargreeves was recently in an accident. He is fine, yes, but he has a long journey of recovery ahead of him. I thank you for all your wishes and thanks.”_

_Three months later, Spaceboy, donning dark brown hair, appeared back on missions. Fans, after the accident, had reported about his sudden change in behavior. “He was so sweet before—he still is, he’s just.. colder. I don’t mind, though, he’s _so much _hotter now!” one fan says._

_Another, “He reminds me a lot of his brother, Number Five. I’m pretty sure they’re twins, Spaceboy with the brown hair looks identical to Five. Even his cold behaviour is an uncanny match. I wonder if it’s because Five disappeared?”_

_Many fans have said things similar to these, and we’re _real _surprised! Number One, Luther Hargreeves, has since then moved on from his days as a child hero. He works as a forensic scientist—still sporting dark brown hair, however._

That was.. not what he was expecting—though there  certainly  was a lot of information in it. Did his brother act different? Five.. Five thought that was because his twin _grew up_.

Five sighed, scrolling onto the next part.

”Number Six: The Public’s Concern”

_The public grew not to be keep their curiosities of the hero family at bay, as the children were seen doing hero work just the_ week _after a statement was published that one of the children were severely hurt, and unable to perform any activity. An explosion of blog posts, videos, and articles were published on the internet, with the main question: Are the Hargreeves children alright?_

_A psychologist, who remained, and still has remained anonymous, posted a textpost and youtube video analyzing dozens of interviews, public appearances, pictures, photoshoots and paparazzi shots of the children, since their debut in 2001._

_Below is a paragraph from the psychologist, from their original post back in 2006: “You can see here, the children lining up in front of the bank, right? Their posture is high — held in confidence and, their happy. Really happy—Its one of their first missions, if my research is correct—then, here,” a screenshot of the now paused video was shown, “—their father walks in. They all go still. Straight. Silent. All traces of that childlike wonder has disappeared from them.”_

_More is shown, “In an interview, with, what was it? Teen Vogue? In 2002, when they should be.. 13? Before Five’s disappearance. Five, Spaceboy and Horror are being interviewed—the only kids their father permitted to go—you can see, the children aren’t the best at social interaction. Five’s answers are forced, unnatural_ _. He looks bored and annoyed half the time, and when the interviewer asks him a question—he changes his expression immediately._

_Horror is quiet, he barely answers anything—may be used to being spoken over—and Spaceboy looks nervous, hes looking around, avoiding eye contact, he takes long, deep breaths in and out—a common calming mechanism found in people with social anxiety. The interview itself is plastic and awkward. The children feel like cardboard, not real people—and from what I can see from their father—they wish they were.”_

_That post caused an uproar at the time, and added fuel to a fire called #ConcernForTheKids and #TheHargreevesCryForHelp_ _on Twitter. The situation has since then died down, as the Umbrella Academy has disbanded and the children have grown into adults, but we all still ask the same question as before. Are, and were, the children alright? Were they ever?_

Five blinked. Their dad was a right ass, no question about it, but he did _not_ know the public had anything to say about it. He scrolled once more. 

“Number Seven: Who is she?” Five groaned. He already _knew_ what this crap was about.

_As you know, the Hargreeves children have never appeared outside without their father in tow. Though, in 2002, the children, including one other girl, were taken paparazzi shots of outside Griddy’s Donuts. The girl who was seen accompanying them wore the same Academy uniform as the rest, and looked extremely comfortable with her company._

_The Hargreeves children are definitely not normal children—a matter oftenly debated by the public—but such pictures shown that they are indeed, still human._

_The next question the public gave out was, “Who is she?” Though no statements were released from any of the children, nor their father, and we have never found out who ‘she’ was._

_We’re unsure where the children could have made any friends, considering their fathers policy on keeping them out of public eye without any warranted events—but perhaps Reginald Hargreeves has had another child stowed away._

The article soon became a jumbled mess of tears and questions without many answers about the academy. 

Five exited out of the website, clicking the computer off, sighing. He didn’t get _anything_ on the whereabouts of his family. 

The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Blinking to the front door, Five unlocked it for his brother to walk in. 

“Diego’s in jail.” One says, coughing awkwardly into his arm. _That_ was the first thing he said?

“Seriously?” Five asks, thinning his eyes.

“I saw him handcuffed, being shoved in a cell as I walked in, Five.”

Five rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We need to get him out.” One shrugged, “Hes been sentenced to stay there until someone pays his fee.” 

“Well, then get the car, idiot!”

. . .

“We’re here for Diego Hargreeves.” Five hears One say at the counter. 

The officer gives One a suspicious look, before writing off on a paper and waving his hand dismissively.

Five gets up, “So? The hell’s he charged with?” He says impatiently, tapping his foot on the marble floor. One scratches his cheek, “Breaking and entering.” He answers awkwardly. 

Five gives a judging face. “Get off me! I can handle myself.” The two of them hear from behind the counter. Diego was being escorted to the front, before an officer clicked the cuffs off his hands. 

“Lu—One?” Diego says in surprise, “ _You’re_ the one who paid my bail.” He says with a snort.

“I didn’t even know you still lived in New Y—“ He starts, before Five pushed One out of the way. His brothers words cut short, eyes widening at _who_ exactly was standing in front of him.

“F-Five?” He stuttered. 

“Two.” Five says shortly, nodding his head down slightly. “How, h—what? When?” Diego said, stumbling closer.

One taps Five on the shoulder, “We need to leave. People are starting to recognize you.” He all but orders, gesturing to a few women whispering at the end of the hall, pointing at the group of them. 

Five shakes his head irritatedly, dragging his two siblings down an empty hall and warping outside to the car. Diego stumbles, before One grabs him by the hood of his sweatshirt. 

Diego swats his brothers hand away, grudgingly shoving himself into the car.

“I’m driving.” Five says, to One’s behest and protest.

”You’re thirteen!”

“You drive like our nonexistent robot grandmother!”


End file.
